


Crises of Faith

by 9_of_Clubs



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Hannibal and Will have run away together, M/M, Mending but not Forgetting, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights, in the empty darkness, when all the sounds have been silenced around him, and even the crashing of the waves outside their window seems muffled and far...When the blood thrumming in his head is too loud, and a scream sits perched just under his throat, memories plaguing and vicious, Will touches Hannibal’s scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crises of Faith

Some nights, in the empty darkness, when all the sounds have been silenced around him, and even the crashing of the waves outside their window seems muffled and far...When the blood thrumming in his head is too loud, and a scream sits perched just under his throat, memories plaguing and vicious, Will touches Hannibal’s scars. He makes strange anchors out of the marks that bear his signature, runs his fingers wordlessly up and down the knotted flesh, learns and relearns their contours until he can breath again. Remembering that he has not forgotten helps steady him, the thought that he still holds his anguish, his rage, comforts. He fears most falling to a different kind of madness than the one he has already experienced, fears forgetting above all, in the face of the peaceful world they’ve built. Touching the scars reminds him of Bev, his fingers dig into skin, reminds him of Alana and Abigail, and the sounds the bars made when they closed around him. The twisted flesh calls up everything he has surrendered and sacrificed and he relishes in the sharpness of the reminder. But it reminds him too of the pangs of a different loss, of a time when they were parted and neither of them were the better for it. Whispers to him of how being here, together, alone, was always the best choice, has always been the only way, softens the muscles that tensed, ready to run. 

Sometimes Hannibal is awake during these crises of faith, Will can feel the sharpness that fills out his body when he is the moment his fingers touch the other’s skin; can make out the harsh intake of breath that accompanies his exploration, the quiet sadness that filters from the other’s unspeaking body. A sudden aura of strange hesitance that Hannibal so rarely possesses clinging to his still form. Hannibal doesn’t reach out in these heartbeats, doesn’t beg Will to stay, or try to comfort him, only touches Will with his pain, lips thin, and allows Will to come to his own conclusions. The scars cause aches entirely different for him, Will knows, but no less important. 

In the end, when the sun rises, filtering in through the windows, dancing softly across sheets, it always finds them still both in place, neither one run in the night. Too much has passed for them to heal correctly, but they form a scar together and push on.


End file.
